Melancholy granted,
uncalled and ne’er a reason why –
comes at moment’s dusk like this,
from silent wood and throbbing sky.
As if it’s called from aging flesh,
greying beard and fading eye.
I feel it so wash o’er me,
that in return I grant a sigh –
to acknowledge day’s escaping,
to ponder on the dreams un-won,
to toast in silent reverie
the man I’ve so become.
jaybluepoems 
Beautiful.
Thanks!
Great description of a man going on 63. Eloquent…Thanks Jay. Oh and “silent wood and throbbing sky”…
Thanks brother. 63 huh… ha!
Ok, now I’m in love with your poetry. 😀
Thanks! I appreciate you checking it all out and your encouragement. Thanks!